The click click click of a pair of ridiculously expensive pair of Christian Louboutins echoed through the long hall connecting the gate to the terminal. Irene adjusted her blazer, straightened her stockings, quickly touched up her lipstick in her compact, and headed for the entrance.
Kate was waiting for her on the far side of the security barrier, a shock of red hair and a brilliant smile, and she felt her heart beat faster. Years of working with men, with women, knowing everyone's most intimate secrets, and somehow, still a smile from that woman could set her aflame. Sherlock may have provided her with a temporary distraction, but damn him, that's all he was. That, and an easily manipulated exit strategy. Kate was steadfast, reliable, witty, and gorgeous. And all hers. No adorable but pesky jealous flatmates to over-complicate things.
Irene hummed to herself, flipping through the images on her camera phone as she waited in line to clear customs. When she got to the series with one handsome consulting detective and his charming doctor, she repeatedly hit the delete button. Cleared to leave, she tossed her duffel full of dirty robes and disguises into the trash bin by the front door, feeling a huge weight lifting off her shoulders as she divested herself of both the physical and emotional baggage.